Symptom
by rusalka9
Summary: Valentine doesn't know what's wrong with him. He feels awful, but the doctor says he isn't sick.


**A/N: **I apologize for the wacky spacing, but I've been trying for an hour to fix it, to no avail. I hope it doesn't bother anyone too much. Again, sorry.**  
**

**Symptom**

**_A MirrorMask Fanfic by annatari.the.writer  
_**

_Title: _Symptom

_Category: _MirrorMask

_Pairing:_HelenaValentine

_Summary:_Valentine doesn't know what's wrong with him. He feels awful, but the doctor says he isn't sick.

* * *

**"Symptom" **

* * *

"So, doc. What is it? The flu? Pneumonia? Malaria? Don't spare my sensibilities, I can handle the bad news." Valentine waited apprehensively for the doctor to tell him what awful disease he was suffering from. 

Doctor Deckle gazed in amusement through the eye holes of his fuzzy green mask. Lime-colored tendrils drooped from his jowls, lying against his white smock like overcooked spaghetti. If spaghetti was green, that is.

"You're perfectly healthy Valentine, even if you are a little skinny. Are you eating enough?"

"Y'see doc, that's the thing. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I hurt all over. I've got to be sick, because I've been feeling this way ever since..." _she left _"I helped rescue her Majesty. Are you _sure _I'm not sick? The Dark Queen could have cursed me, I suppose..."

"You're not cursed, Valentine," Deckle interrupted. "And you're definitely not sick. Actually, I think I know what's wrong with you...but you won't like it."

Behind his mask Valentine was rolling his eyes. "I already told you: I can handle the news, no matter how nasty it is."

Trying desperately to repress his smirk, Deckle explained his diagnosis. "Well, Valentine, I'm not really sure how to say this...you see...eh..."

Valentine's shoulders stiffened as he braced himself.

"Frankly, Valentine, I think you're lovesick."

For a second Valentine didn't say anything. Then he chuckled. "Good one, doc. But seriously, what is it?"

"I'm not joking, Valentine. Tell me, have you met anyone..._special_ recently? Someone you cared for?"

Helena flashed in Valentine's mind, looking just as beautiful in white pajamas as in the black dress. Helena, smiling at him. Helena, juggling with him, her eyes losing their inky blackness. Helena, slipping on the MirrorMask and returning to her world. Helena Helena Helena.

"No, of course not," he told the doctor. "Valentines don't get lovesick."

Deckle shrugged. "If you say so. But just in case you want to know, the best cure for love sickness is to tell the person how you feel."

"Yeah, whatever," Valentine said with a snort, hopping down from the exam table. "_Lovesick_...of all things...hmph...batty old sawbones..."

Deckle watched as Valentine, still mumbling under his breath, exited the exam room. When the door swung shut behind the slouching young man, the good doctor sighed. He had heard all the rumors of the White Queen's rescue, just like anyone else. While he highly doubted that an army of spork-wielding penguins had anything to do with it, as some believed, perhaps the rumors of the girl who looked like the Dark Princess were true. According to the gossip, the girl had been from another world. When the Princess switched realities with her, she and Valentine hunted down the charm. The MirrorMask. But the girl had disappeared when the Princess reappeared. Deckle supposed that she had returned to her own world. But still, she must have been something in order to bewitch Valentine. Hopefully the boy would find a way to talk to her, different realities or not. If anyone could, it would be the intrepid Valentine.

--

Valentine strolled past a wall of poster-invitations to the Grand Ball that would be held in less than a week. The Ball was to celebrate the revival of the White Queen, and as one of her rescuers, Valentine had received a VIP invitation. Now, he paused to examine the posters as a half-formed idea skittered across the back of his mind.

Before now, he hadn't really wanted to go to the Ball. It would be a stuffy, formal affair, with lots of bowing and posturing. Guaranteed to be boring—_especially without her—_so he had planned on spending the obligatory half-hour or so before leaving, but now...

He spun away from the gaudy posters and began striding quickly down the alley. He needn't to stop by the White Palace to request a small favor of Her Majesty.

--

The Queen was looking at him in a knowing way that made Valentine shift about. When he realized that he was fidgeting, he immediately stiffened and stood up straighter. He _was_a very important person, after all, and VIPs did not shift nervously.

After a moment's thought, the Queen spoke. "Valentine, I respect your request, but I must ask. Why do you want Helena to attend the Ball?"

"She rescued you!" he snapped defensively, forgetting the 'Your Majesty'. "She deserves to come to the Ball, at the very least!"

She smiled patiently. "Helena has earned my gratitude a thousand times over, and a Ball would not even begin to repay my debt to her. What I mean is, why do _you _want her to come?"

He was fidgeting again, all thought of status forgotten. "Because...I don't want to suffer through it alone?" he answered, hoping to sound witty. "And she might like it. She _is _a girl, and they usually like balls."

For a moment it looked as if the Queen was going to comment on his rather sexist statement, but she decided to ignore it. "Helena has her family and her life to enjoy," she reminded him. "She may not wish to take the time to attend."

"That's for her to decide, isn't it?" Valentine said sharply. "Look, why don't you just invite her, and if she wants to come, she will. Alright?"

The Queen nodded slowly as she scrutinized him. Then she smiled. "Very well, Valentine. I will contact Helena and invite her to the Ball."

"Finally," he replied with a snort. He turned on his heel and exited the throne room, glad to escape the White Queen's piercing gaze.

--

He really didn't fit in with the crowds of elegant masked people, who danced and flirted and laughed, all the while looking refined. Valentine had deliberated over his clothing options, and had decided (with a defiant "Screw this") to just wear his usual robes. There hadn't been any reason to dress up, as he wasn't here to impress anyone (_certainly not _her_, though the Queen had told him that she would be here. Not that he_cared _or anything_). For half-an-hour he drifted around the outskirts of the ballroom, simultaneously searching for her and pretending that he wasn't. He was so distracted that he didn't notice the person standing in front of him, wearing a winsome, albeit nervous, smile.

When his eyes landed on her face (_she's here! Great Carnival, she's really here!_) he stopped moving. The distant roar of the dancers echoed in his mind, a fuzzy backdrop to the constantly repeating _she'shereshe'shereSHE'SHERE_. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just stood there, mute and unable to tear his eyes away from her.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her dark hair was curled in delicate spirals, she was wearing makeup on her mask-less face, and a string of pearls encircled her throat. They moved slightly as she swallowed. Golden-red embroidered flames burned on the pristine white of her dress. She was twisting her hands in front of her, but neither she nor Valentine noticed. They were too busy staring at each other, waiting for someone to do or say something.

He was the first one to break. He inhaled a shaky breath, then exhaled it in a sigh. "Helena," he whispered.

Her eyes glowed when he said her name. "Valentine," she replied, stepping a little closer.

"How have you been?" he asked, then mentally cursed himself for being so idiotic, but she didn't seem to mind. Indeed, she appeared to latch onto the simple, familiar question.

"I've been good. My mum's all better now," she responded.

"That's good. Really good." For circus's sake, what was wrong with him? Valentines were never at a loss for words. They were charming, eloquent, romantic...

Stop.

Wrenching his thoughts back to the girl in front of him, he mustered up a rusty smile. He could have sworn he saw her eyes widen, heard a tiny intake of breath, but he must have been imagining it. He couldn't affect her like that. Right?

The only thing he knew for sure was that she was affecting him, and he didn't like how his chest felt tight and how words wouldn't come smoothly like they always did. Hell, what did it matter anyway? Let her enjoy the ball, Valentine, let her be happy and then go home to her family and friends and regular mundane life. Get out before you do something really stupid.

Valentine elected to listen to the jaded voice that he recognized as his own. "Well, it was nice to see you," he told her, the words coming easier now that he had a plan. "I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing." Then he turned away, away from her face, so tensed and anxious. Before he could force his feet to walk away, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't," she said quietly. "Don't leave."

_  
Why not? _He wanted to scream. _You did. You left once, and you'll leave again. It's my turn now! _But he didn't. Something like a laugh emerged from his throat, but he didn't turn around. If he looked at her, he was lost, and he wasn't going to let her do that to him again.

"Valentine." Her voice was soft and sad and desperate. "Please, Valentine..." The way she said his name was addictive.

"Why should I stay?" he choked out, his voice rough with something he didn't want to identify. "Give me a reason to stay." It was half a step away from begging, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore except the light touch of her hand on his shoulder and her voice. He almost collapsed when her touch vanished, but it was soon replaced by her arms wrapping around his waist. Her forehead pressed against the spot between his shoulder blades.

"Because I need you to stay," he heard her whisper, and something inside him shattered. He jerked out of her arms and spun. He saw her startled, hurt face for a second, and then she was in his arms and his lips were on hers, and everything felt right.

He kissed her with every emotion he had felt since she had appeared in the alley during his rehearsal. Pain, anger, sadness, betrayal, regret, joy, hope, happiness. Love. She returned the kiss and the emotions, her hands tangling in his hair. He sensed that the crowd had stopped their dancing and chattering in favor of staring at the roguish hero and the mysterious mask-less girl.

He broke away from her, burying his face in her hair. Her lips caressed his neck, and he smiled softly. There were still many problems, but somehow they didn't seem so big. Not with Helena in his arms.

--

Across the ballroom, Dr. Deckle and the White Queen shared a smile before returning their gazes to the young couple.

**_FIN_**

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**A/N:** I got the idea for this while thinking about MirrorMask (a lovely movie; I watched it 3 times in a row) and hearing the word 'lovesick', which I felt would apply well to Valentine. Not that he would _ever _admit it. Anyway, this is pretty fluffy, with a pinch of angst to keep the nausea at bay. I had some of my friends read it, and the girls all liked it (the guys weren't as impressed). There was much squealing and _aww_-ing. Oh, and the army of spork-wielding penguins thing is for Mimi, should she read this. :D 

I liked writing this little story; Valentine is so much fun to play with. So, leave me a review and tell me what you think! I'll accept even a short thumbs-up or thumbs-down. I promise to respond, and I will probably check out your profile and read anything you've written in a fandom I'm familiar with (yes, that is bribery). Love you just for reading!

-- annatari.the.writer


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